


Lose Your Face, Lose Your Name

by Fall (Yros)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dead Like Me, Angst, Cuddling, Dark Comedy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grim Reaper!Foxes, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Death, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yros/pseuds/Fall
Summary: Sitting with strangers in an unknown diner downtown was not how Neil intended his day to go. But he hadn’t intended to die either. If he had known, would he have stayed in the hole ridden blankets of his makeshift bed? Lived another day?Turned out, dying was the best thing to ever happen to him.--(Dead Like Me inspired AU)





	1. The job to die for, comes with a killer boss.

Neil had expected to die many ways throughout his life. By a train, by a gun, by the hands of others.

An exposed beam impaling his body in the middle of a corner park trapped between two busy streets hadn't crossed his mind.

He had died without a sound, just the last thought of _oh fuck_ before he was waking up, just as quiet as he left. It took him a few moments to process what had happened when he woke up, just staring at the impassive face of the man leaning against the park entrance statue before Neil was checking every surface of his body. He recorded scars and bruises, nothing out of the ordinary, everything was the same as it had been when he had left Chicken that morning.

Which didn't match up to his memories of a Baltimore Beam speeding towards him from the heavens. The irony wasn't lost on him.

That's what he remembered at least, but for once Neil felt that he couldn't quite trust his memories, only fragments of scenes were available in his head.

Running, feeding Chicken, tilting his head to hide away from the shopkeeper, holding his temper when some passer-by started a fight with him, more running. And then realising he was directly under a sharp, fast piece of metal and accepting that that would be the end for Neil Josten.

It didn't explain why he was laying on the sidewalk, a commotion surrounding him as he got stared down by a strange, mildly intimidating man.

"What?" Neil sounded confused to his own ears. It was justified.

"Great," the man said in monotone, still leaning against the statue - some type of cat gargoyle hybrid - as if it was an everyday occurrence. "I was worried you couldn't speak there for a moment."

He didn't sound very worried but Neil wasn't going to mention that.

"What's going on?"

The man sighed. With little effort he pushed off of the cat to walk towards Neil stopping just before his feet, looking down at Neil with a blank expression. "You're dead."

"Oh." Maybe Neil should have been more surprised. But it made sense. And after a lifetime of anticipating his demise, it wasn't that shocking when he finally he met it. "Okay."

"Okay?" The man parroted with a quirk of the brow.

Neil shrugged. "Okay."

He got a look that meant the man was obviously waiting for Neil's inevitable breakdown over his mortality, but Neil figured the man would be waiting a while. If Neil's ghost - spirit? - was even allowed to stick around long enough for Neil to lose his mind. Maybe he was a zombie? That would be interesting.

"Well, you're dead." The man continued. Even if Neil hadn't been told that, or couldn’t remember being skewered by building debris, he would have known anyway. There was a strange feeling in his entire being, a stillness that could probably be chalked up to the fact that his heart was most likely not beating anymore. "I'm surprised you stayed still long enough to be killed truthfully. I thought you would have skittered away as soon as you saw danger, runner boy."

Two points of the man's speech made Neil's skin tighten. The fact that whoever this was knew enough about his lifestyle to know he would run at the first sign of danger. And the implication that Neil was killed.

"So who are you? God? An angel?" Neil didn't think he deserved either of those so he moved on to the more likely options. "The Devil? Grim reaper?"

The man made a _ding ding_ noise as soon as the words left Neil's mouth, a snap of his fingers joining him. "Ten points for Wesninski."

Neil refrained himself from stabbing the man just for the name, but his knife had disappeared at some point in his death, alongside most of his other possessions. The absence of his bag didn’t sit right with Neil, the weight that he was so used to having pressed against his side felt both there and missing, like a phantom limb. He figured it was still on his body. His dead body.

That’s probably what all the commotion was about. Most people screamed when confronted with a dead body. A body that died as gruesomely as falling metal was definitely high up there on grotesque looking corpses. He wondered briefly if it hit his face, if there was anything salvageable enough to identify Neil. He hoped not. It would be poetic justice to have his father searching for a ghost the rest of his life.

But he knew that that was unlikely, Nathan had too many connections to miss something as obvious as Neil’s death. So he savoured the fantasy for a second before letting it go.

“So what next?” Neil asked, gingerly getting to his feet, not sure how well his not-body would work now that it was dead.

“Up to you. What do you want to know?”

As if the dead kid was meant to know what to ask. So he stuck with the obvious. “What am I?

“What do you think you are?” The man asked, amused and completely redundant.

Neil sent him a glare, not really in the mood to play games with the man. Dying will do that to someone. “A ghost? Or a zombie.”

He was still holding out for zombie.

“Mmmm, I can tell you right now that you’re not a zombie.” The man said, looking over Neil once before walking, pacing even as he began weaving through the crowd. Neil jogged after him, matching up to his stride easily enough. “I wouldn’t call you a ghost either. I guess some might call the others ghosts as well. They’re just dead to me.”

Despite Neil’s smarts, there was only so much he could follow, especially when talking to the grim reaper and his riddles. He could taste metal in his mouth and he didn’t know if it was fear or the remnants of his death.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Neil had been told he was a snarky little shit in his lifetime, been told his mouth would get him killed. But what was to fear from his mouth if he was already dead. Not that he didn’t know that there were worse things than death, he just hoped that the man wouldn’t be interested in the torture of Neil’s soul.

But Neil was confused, and despite the calmness on the surface, there was an anxiety underneath that had been building since he woke up without any of his few possessions. And the man was really no help, vague answers and eyebrows raised as if to wait for Neil to answer his own questions.

After a beat passed, he offered his hand to Neil, slow enough that Neil didn’t flinch, but he was still wary. He watched the paused hand and the man’s flick of his chin, nodding over to the crowd that had formed. Those that hadn’t wanted to see his dead body had run off, and those still curious kept guard of it, circling around his presumed corpse like sharks, consuming any visual of gore they could. Neil didn’t get people like that.

With clear purpose of rejecting the man’s hand, he shoved his palms into the back pockets of his jeans, not comfortable with taking the hand despite the little threat the man indicated himself.

The man just shrugged.

“Okay, so I’m ‘dead’, then who are you?”

“Im undead.” The man replied, a smidge of arrogance in his voice as he looked at Neil’s frustration. “And your new boss, I guess. I don’t really agree with that but y’know, that’s the official title.”

‘ _New Boss_ ’. Neil didn’t like the sound of that. He wasn’t just going to escape from the grasp of one captor to the next. “I don’t remember applying, so thanks, but I’m good.”

The man’s laugh was two parts amused and one part regretful. “Trust me, kid. If we got a choice about this, I would be plenty a happy more.”

“Then what am I?

“Hmmm.” The man assessed him, eyes dragging over Neil’s entire person. Usually, he would feel more unsettled by the action, but the lack of light and interest in the man’s eyes smoothed any of his figuratively ruffled feathers. “I think I’ll get into that once you’re finished.”

Neil didn’t know what he meant by finished but he didn’t like the edge to the man’s smile.

“You’re really bad at answering questions.”

The man didn’t look offended. Neil didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved.

“Or you’re just really bad at figuring it out. Don’t place the blame on others.”

The words set him on edge a bit, made him want to fight back, to verbally defend himself because the man had been vague, and Neil was dead, and once in his life - or god damn afterlife - he just wanted a break.

But then someone broke from the crowd and walked through him.

Not even a sliver of acknowledgment or emotion passed over the strangers face as he had headed Neil’s way, his stroll not hesitating in the slightest as he passed through Neil’s chest.

His once corporeal being was no more, his physical self evaporating into the air like smoke as the stranger went straight through. It didn’t hurt, not in the way Neil would expect from someone’s body being torn apart on an atomic level, but there was a distinct feeling of _wrong_ and _stop_. It felt so off, both mentally and physically, and it was a feeling that didn’t pass even when his body formed again. Pieces of him being pulled together like metal shards to a magnet, sliding into place.

“Ah.” It came out calmer than he was feeling, a monotone. When truthfully he wanted to scream, but he felt that if he did he wouldn’t be able to stop for a while, and he wasn’t fond of spending his last moments on earth yelling bloody murder. “What. What the _fuck_?”

“There we go, that’s what I was waiting for.” The man said, almost cheerful and relieved. “I’m more used to this.”

“You know, you’re kind of an ass.” Neil spat, a little high pitched as he tried to distract himself from the fact that he was dead. Actually dead.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Sorry, I would usually have a bit more tact but I’m not quite used to this, I have to admit.” The man said with a shrug, as if he wasn’t discussing Neil’s death. “Usually I would just do the whole ‘you’re dead’ schtick and send you on your way.”

“So what? I’m a special case?” Neil asked, voice hoarse and with a sardonic edge that he would have kept down any other time.

“Basically.”

And on some level he had accepted that he was dead, but it didn’t really settle in until that moment. Until the man looked at him with empathy and a touch of worry. Until the last of his stomach knitted together. Until he realised that it was the end of his life. That while he was in an isolated state of being, he would be gone. Any chance of a future. Gone.

No more running, no more Chicken, no more backstreet exy and stealing food to live. Neil Josten was dead. Along with every other name that had died before it.

“What about my life?” Neil yelled.

“What about it? You didn’t have much of a life anyway? Running and running? Don’t you want a purpose. An actual purpose?”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, that’s about right, unfortunately.”

“I think I need to sit down.” Even though all he wanted to do was turn tail and run away from the street, the city, the man and his nonchalant attitude about Neil’s death.

“Shit,” He said, ushering Neil to the curb. He looked two seconds away from getting Neil a bucket, and he couldn’t blame the man. Throwing up was a small potential. “Uhh, look, kid. I know--”

“I’m dead.”

There was a pause for a second or two. “Yeah, kid. You’re dead.”

“But…”

Neil didn’t even know what he was going to say in response. That he had so much to live for? That was a lie. That he didn’t deserve to die? That was also a lie, he had taken lives, he had no right to be upset over his own.

“I know.” And the way the man said it, with a level of honesty Neil didn’t expect from strangers, made it believable. Like he truly did know. And Neil figured he must have. From the sounds of it, this wasn’t the man’s first dead soul, and Neil wouldn’t be the last. “It’s not fair. It rarely never is. You’re so young. What? Nineteen?”

“Eighteen.”

“ _Fuck_.”

The man settled by his side, large body taking up almost double the curb Neil did. “I know. I know. And it sucks, but this is your figurative life now. You didn’t deserve to die this young, to die in the middle of the street by yourself. To die alone.

“And I know this is going to hurt, but you’re going to have to look at it. At your body. It’s going to be the last nail in the coffin. It’s going to hurt like hell, but you have to do it, kid. Especially if you want to move on from this, otherwise it’s going to drag you down. A constant curiosity of what you looked liked when you died. How many people went to your funeral? If maybe there’s a chance you can go back to your old body? If it wasn’t as bad as you imagine? You gotta rip the bandaid off.”

There was so many parts of the stupid speech that Neil wanted to scoff at. Who would come to his funeral. One person, maybe. And he always knew he was going to die young and alone. He _knew_ that, but it didn’t lessen the sting.

So Neil lifted his head from between his knees, looked through the parting crowd and saw Nathaniel Wesninski. Saw Neil Josten. Dark hair and too dark eyes that should have already started to pale from post mortem. He died a lie.

It was strange and terrifying to see his own body. It was gruesome, and despite the gore he had seen - experienced - in his life. His body broken with a metal beam in it topped the list. From shoulder to toe, it ran through his body. It had hit the ground hard enough that it pinned Neil standing straight, neck broken and tossed back, like a terrible statue that no one would ever buy.

“That’s… That’s me.”

It was him. Choppy hair that he cut and died himself. Ratty, faded hoodie that he stole two months ago. It was all Neil Josten.

His insides curled at the sound of sirens, instinctual fear shooting through him at the mechanical call. But it was an ambulance, not the distinct sound of the police, so his shoulders relaxed the smallest amount.

It took time for the paramedics to unpin the beam from the ground, his body being carried away on a stretcher, metal still implanted in his body. It almost felt like a scene from a terrible crime show, as if some theme music would start playing and some cop would make an ill-mannered joke about his death.

It was a strange feeling to watch his body being carried away by people who couldn’t even see him, as crowds of people followed after his corpse, walking through Neil in the process. To watch his life literally leave in the back of an ambulance, hands shaking and eyes wide as the chatter of people faded and the sound of the ambulance blended into the noise of the city.

“I don’t like this.” It was a stupid thing to say, but Neil couldn’t think of much that would be acceptable for the situation.

“Neither do I.”

And then before Neil could say more, the man raised to his feet and started walking with a few, ‘ _come on_ ’s.

Like a ghost, he followed after the man like he was an anchor to the last remnants of his world and normality. Questions blew around his brain with the speed of a cyclone, none reaching his mouth as he mindlessly followed the man, ducking underneath tape and pointlessly weaving through the crowd.

Brushing through people still felt as uncomfortable as the first time, as if each time he passed through someone, he was reminded of the fact that he wasn’t real.

The man was different though, people moved their shoulder and leaned away as he passed through them. He parted people like the Red Sea, people naturally moving to allow him passage.

“How can they see you?” Neil called out, quickening his pace to catch up to the large man.

The crossing lights flickered to a red as they both paused with the crowd. Neil received no answers as they waited, nothing more than a brief glance his way before the man was walking off again. Not that Neil was unfit in the first place, but despite the man’s fast pace, Neil never felt a sign of fatigue. Breath stable to whole time. As slow and calm as if he were resting.

On a curios whim, he held his breath for a moment. And then another moment. Until the natural threshold of asphyxiation had passed and Neil accepted the fact that he didn’t need to breathe. And he probably didn’t need to sleep. Or drink. Or eat.

What ghost would need to eat?

It was strange, walking through the city not being able to smell the dirty scent of exhaust pipes and sewage, and the distinct metallic smell of the city. He didn’t quite know how the whole ‘dead’ thing worked and the one person who had the answers wasn’t the most receptive to Neil’s questions.

“How long am I going to be like this?” Neil asked. Wandering the earth for an eternity didn’t sound as pleasant as eternal sleep.

Again, he received no reply, only a wave of the hand to tell him to cross the street. Despite everything, Neil was glad that the man didn’t try to touch him again.

Would the man be able to even grasp him? The man had reached out for him. None of the living could but he assumed that it might be a bit different for the undead. Would that mean that inanimate objects be able to do the same?

Would that be the same for all his senses? He could see the bustling crowd in front of him, and hear the honking of impatient drivers, but he couldn’t touch the bodies passing him even though he could feel his body break apart. He couldn’t smell the smoke of cigarettes from the stranger next to him so maybe he couldn’t taste food either.

Neil quickened his pace briefly. “What decides which senses the dead can keep?”

The man shrugged. “I wish I knew. From what I can tell the dead can see and hear, and that’s about it. Reapers on the other hand, bit different. There’s some pros to the job.”

They both walked down a smaller backstreet as the man talked, breaking away from the masses of people. If he was alive Neil would have been much more hesitant, especially to follow a man his father's age down a deserted path. But he was dead? There wasn’t much the man could really do to him that would actually bother Neil. Unless Nathan somehow managed to make connections with the dead.

Neil wouldn’t be surprised.

At the end of the walkway was a dumpster, closed with a perched figure sitting on top, looking surprisingly collected for someone on top of garbage. Most people would be disgusted by the idea of sitting on top of trash and potentially vomit. Instead she looked indifferent, appearing only a few years older than Neil as she acted like the claimed dumpster was a throne.

“Wymack. This the new kid?”

“Yep.” He said to the blonde.

“How’d he take it?” A foot hit the side of dumpster as the woman uncrossed her legs.

“The death part, surprisingly well. We haven’t had the talk yet. Was going to do it with everyone.” The man said as if Neil wasn’t by his side. Asshole. “Now, kid, this is Allison, another reaper. She’s going to take over. I’ve got a job to do but I’ll catch up with you soon.”

Neil’s gut twisted uncomfortably at the idea of Wymack leaving, an unusual response to a stranger, but so far he had seemed better than Allison’s amused smile.

He said nothing, just nodded as he crossed his arms.

“And you.” Wymack said to Allison, voice leaving no room for games. “Don’t say anything to him until I’m back: you’re not the most tact of people. I don’t need you messing things up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She replied with a smile that guaranteed she wasn’t taking Wymack seriously. “Cross my heart. Secret’s safe with me.”

Looks were thrown between the two briefly as they sized each other up. Wymack ended up submitting, more out of exhaustion than legitimate backing down, breaking away with a smile.

“I’ll see you soon, kid.”

And with that he walked away. It was anticlimactic; this mysterious afterlife figure simply walking down a dirty alley with loud footsteps. Neil expected teleportation, or for him to vanish with the sharpness of a whip.

“So…” Allison began, calling his attention as she leaped off the dumpster onto heels with a scary amount of balance. “What’s your name.”

Neil hesitated, he wasn’t really one to throw his name around but he figured if he wanted answers he would have to trade in a few of his own. “Neil. Josten.”

“Hmmm, that’s not what was on Seth’s note.” She said as she walked by him, the staccato of her heels matching up with her words. He went to use an excuse to defend himself, but she cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Stop, I don’t actually care. Not right now, you’re dead and I’m hungry, so everything’s fine on your end and not on mine. Come on.”

He followed after her, considerably less impressive than her regal stride. If he was still alive he wouldn’t walk by her side like he was, instead follow behind a couple steps. Allison drew too much attention. Attention Neil couldn’t afford. But he was dead, invisible, so the fear of being noticed wasn’t hanging onto his back like a heavy bag.

“Maybe someone got a mix up?”

Allison scoffed as they exited the alley, merging into the wave of people without concern, and he resigned himself to another walk with no answers.

For once, Neil was getting tired of silence.

“Am I going to get any answers?”

“Soon.”

That was as good as it was going to get so he let it go, taking to walking by her, still wary. It wasn’t long before she was pushing open the door to some downtown diner.

There was a distinct half of him that wanted to run, an instinct trained for so long that was yelling at him to dart like prey being closed in by predators. And maybe the running would work, it always did before. He could sprint as fast as he could and return to some semblance of his normal life, squatting in abandoned homes and empty car parks. Go back to Chicken and say goodbye before he left her behind, because _attachments were a weakness, and he had no right to have a pet_. If the grim reapers didn’t catch up to him, maybe he could pretend he didn’t die, be a walking ghost that his father would never find. Maybe dying would work in his favour, no eating, no running, just find a spot to hide from death themselves and spend out the rest of his life with Chicken and a beaten down mattress.

But Allison was looking at him weirdly, and he had paused for too long, and if he wanted answers or closure, he had to move forward from the diner’s threshold.

She started to lead him over to a backseat table, padded red chairs facings each other already filled with occupations and their loud voices.

“Hey guys, guess who I’ve got.”

“Ooh fresh meat.” The girl planted behind the table said, all confidant grin and amused authority. She didn’t seem much older than Neil in physical appearance, but the way she sat and her aura gave away an age that made Neil duck his head a bit.

The boy sent him a wave and an oversized grin as he asked Allison, “Where’s Seth?”

“Meet the new Seth,” She said as she settled into the chair gracefully. Neil hadn’t seen many people enter the tucked away benching without fault before. “Speaking of whereabouts? Where’s Renee, I thought her appointment was at nine?”

“I wish I knew.” The girl replied before she took a sip of her minuscule amount of milkshake, a loud straw slurping noise following.

Allison made a little ‘huh’ noise before focusing her attention back on Neil. “Neil, sit. We’re not going to kill you.”

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” The boy said as Neil slid into place next to Allison, elbow hitting the table uncomfortably, but the pain reassured him that at least he was real on some level.

The sound of cheap porcelain scraping against the vinyl surface rung out as Allison stole the other woman’s leftover eggs, just shrugging ever so slightly. “I died. Sue me. I get to make death jokes.”

Before the man could reply he was cut off by his partner, a hand shushing him as she focused her attention on Neil. “So, what’s your name, new kid?”

“... Neil.”

 

“How are you feeling, Neil?”

“Dead.”

His blunt answer didn’t seem to upset the other two, instead they laughed as if he said something brilliant. Neil wasn’t used to these types.

The man leaned over, hand forward to shake Neil’s with another grin on his face. “I’m Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”

Self preservation pleasantries kicked in as he took the offered hand, shaking it on the lighter side. “You too.”

That was a lie.

Either he could see that Neil was uncomfortable, or he just had a terrible attention span, but Matt turned from Neil to Allison. “So this means Seth is gone? For real?”

“Mmhmm, nice pretty promotion or whatever.” She replied, blasé with a fork full of scrambled eggs.

“You’re taking it well.”

Allison didn’t bother to reply.

The conversation paused for a second, the other woman sending Matt a glance before checking over Allison. He was out of the loop, but he didn’t quite mind. He wasn’t sure he necessarily wanted to be in whatever loop the three were a part of.

Unfortunately, uncomfortable silence meant that their attention was back to the shiny, new thing. The shiny, new thing being Neil.

“So, how’d you kick the bucket? Push the daisies? Bite the dus--” Fortunately, Matt was cut off by a shoulder shove from his seat mate.

“Uhh...” It was still weird to talk about his death. “A metal beam skewered me, I guess.”

“Ooh, at halfway park? Rough. I’m sure everyone and their mother saw you die.” Allison said with a laugh, while the other woman made a face.

“Allison.” The lady said sharply.

“Dan.”

Matt jumped in. “He just died. C’mon, have some sensitivity.”

As if he wasn’t the one who had asked in the first place.

A sigh came from Neil’s left but Allison said no more.

Sitting with strangers in an unknown diner downtown was not how he intended his day to go. But he hadn’t intended to die either. If he had known, would he have stayed in the hole ridden blankets of his makeshift bed? Lived another day? Neil couldn’t say with definite clarity that he would have. Running was tiring, especially after years.

Maybe if his mom was still around, the pressure would have kept him from walking towards his death knowing how it would. But she wasn’t, and Neil was alone, and living was hard. So no, he couldn’t say that he wouldn’t avoided his ‘destiny’. Running was all he knew, but it was so tiring.

If there was an afterlife, a heaven, hell, purgatory, anything else, than maybe he could see his mom again. Return to the one solidarity he had in his life. The one constant that hadn’t changed until it did.

Neil just had to wait until the reapers sent him to whatever awaited him

“Why am I still here?” Neil asked, stirring the straw in his drink. “Shouldn’t you be, what, sending me on my way.”

“Mmm, usually we would.” Dan eyes locked onto his as she spoke. He wondered if his lack of blinking unnerved her. “But you’re a special case.”

“You sure you’re not sending me to hell?”

“Nah, you’re a --”

“Uh huh,” Allison cut in, “we have to wait for Coach.”

Silence fell again and Neil was getting real tired of the quiet and unanswered questions.

“I thought it would hurt a lot more.” Neil said, his words attracting the eyes of those around him. Even for something as fast as death by falling object, he expected there to be at least _something_. It’s not as if the beam struck his brain, there had to be some moment of torture before he died. People like Neil didn’t get to die painlessly.

Matt was the one to offer up some answers.

“We take your soul. You don’t feel a thing once it’s gone. Some are lucky and they die fast, no pain whatsoever. Others are not so lucky.” After seeing Neil’s look he expanded. “Let’s say someone has a chronic disease; we can’t really get to them until they are about to die. So they’re going to spend some time in pain. If someone, like yourself, is about to experience a fast death, we get to you first and then you go out, clean and painless… Well, not so much clean. A beam through the face isn’t quite a classy death.”

Neil kept his not so thankful remark to himself. “Is that it? That’s your whole job?”

“Yeah, basically.” Dan replied. “We’ve got the day shift. Any deaths that occur from morning to sunset, we get. Specifically, external forces. Y’know, falling beams, poisoning, trips and falls.”

“So you don’t actually kill them?”

Allison answered his question as she consumed the last of the eggs.“Nope. We get the hard part. Bodies? They’re the easy part, throw them into a dumpster, set them on fire. Our job is to escort them to the afterlife, deal with the whole ‘ _oh, I’m dead. This isn’t fair_ ’ shtick. Which really gets tiring after the hundredth time.”

“Allison, have some compassion.”

“People die. Get over it. Nobody's special.” She threw Neil a sharp look. “We’re basically the babysitters of the dead. Hold their hand and look after them until they get to where they need to be.”

“To heaven?” Neil asked, mind racing a mile a minute.

Dan was the one to reply. “Who knows.”

“I hope it’s not all preachy like the bible says. Renee can believe in that but I prefer just straight, simple death.”

A bell rang in the background as a waiter approached their table, flipping open a pad and locking eyes with Dan.

“You guys need anything else?” She asked, polite but still with the obligatory fatigue that came with anyone working in service. Neil was almost glad he missed out that aspect of his living life.

“I’ll have another milkshake.” Dan said, sliding the glass towards the end of the table to signal its emptiness.

“I’ll have a steak with syrup, a side of bacon, extra crispy please. Orange juice, the pulp one. With a side of avocado salad and a small bowl of fruit salad.” Allison listed off, fast enough that Neil was surprised that the waiter could keep up.

Once the waitress was done with Allison’s order she raised a brow at Matt, who shook his head politely and said. “Oh, no thanks. I’m not staying. I’ve got my appointment soon.”

The last part was directed towards Dan, who whispered back, “You think it’ll be another grandma? Three in a row would be awesome.”

No sign of acknowledgement of Dan’s comment crossed over the waitress’s face as she turned to Neil. “And you?”

It took a second for Neil to realise she was talking to him. Already used to being invisible to the public eye.

“I thought she couldn’t see me.” Neil asked, not very subtly.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a reaper now, kid. Welcome to the family.” A low voice replied from behind him. “Now answer before she thinks you’re high.”

“You were standing there for too long, Coach.” Matt said with a laugh as he slid out of his seat, gesturing for Wymack to take his place.

The waitress was still standing in front of the table, face polite but blank as she waited for his order. Did the reapers talk about death often in front of her? Because she had little to no reaction at all.

“I’m good.” Neil answered with hesitancy.

He was grateful for her nonchalonce as she grabbed the empty plates and glass, as she hummed a, “Mmhmm.”

Matt dodged out of the way as she passed, just missing the stack of plates before leaning against the top of the bench head.

“Why am I a reaper?” Neil asked as soon as the waitress was out of ear range, the anger not quite kept from his voice. “I don’t remember agreeing to this. I’m meant to just die.”

“Nope, you were Seth’s last death, so the mantle gets passed on to you.” Wymack replied as he tapped on the table surface. “Just think of it as a bad game of tag.”

“You couldn’t have told me before?”

Wymcack paused in replying as the waitress came back with the girls’ drinks and smaller foods, quick to steal a piece of Allison’s bacon. “Look, dying is pretty rough and traumatic in the first place. I thought I’d give you time to process one thing before I dumped the rest on you.”

“I still would have liked to known earlier.” Neil didn’t appreciate information being kept from him but he could understand where the man was coming from. “So, what? Seth just chose me out of a crowd and now I’m stuck with this.”

Chewing the last of his bacon, Wymack shook his head. “No. He got your name for his appointment. He did his job. And then he got lucky. None of us know when we’re going to go. We could collect ten souls, a hundred souls, a thousand, before we’re gone.”

“And that’s it? You die for real?”

“I don't know, I wish I had the answers. All I know is one minute you’re there, doing your job, and then the next you’re gone as the new one comes in.” Wymack said with a casual shrug. “Maybe we’re promoted. Maybe we get to go where the other souls go. I don’t know.”

It was a lot of information to take in and Neil was almost glad Wymack waited to tell him. “How do you, I, collect the souls.”

“Its pretty simple.” Said Dan, the girl who had been doing it for however many years. Neil wasn’t going to trust her judgement on ‘simple’.

“I give you a name, time, and a place.” Wymack said slowly. “You go to that place, find the name, and then collect the soul before the times up. And then you just gotta lead them away.”

Neil pressed his fingers into his face, an obvious tell of distress, but he didn’t care. Collecting, leading. He didn’t understand any of what was happening. “You’re really not making much sense.”

“Give me a break, it’s been almost thirty years since I’ve had to do this.”

Allison decided to take over as she turned on the seat to face him, arm going to rest on the back of the bench. The muscles in her upper arm meant danger to Neil, but he figured she wasn’t going to harm him. Yet. “Look, do you remember some asshole coming up to you? Probably really aggressive about it, looking to pick a fight?”

The memory of the dude on the street came to mind. Burly and angry he had bumped into Neil and asked for his name. Suspicious but trying not to blow cover, Neil had replied, “Josten.”

The strangers self directed reply of "Last one couldn't have been easy, could it?", was concerning but not much compared to how he had turned and yelled, “Wesninski,” to the skies. By reflex, Neil tensed up, hoping the man thought it was just because of the sudden yelling.

Neil hadn’t gotten lucky, as the man had turned to him and said. “Oh, you piece of shit."

A second later a hand had gripped Neil’s arm before the stranger ran off as Neil internally promised to get out of town right then and there. He had thought it’d be quicker to cut across the park, grab his stuff, and run.

That hadn’t worked out well for him.

“Yeah.” Neil’s words were directed towards Allison. “I remember him.”

“That was Seth, and you got to be the lucky winner of the lottery prize that is reaping. Congrats.” She said, all cynical happiness and false cheer. “And now you get to do what he did. Find the person, give them a feel, and then kick ‘em out.”

Outwardly, he tried not to show the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that was running through him as he got overwhelmed by each piece of information. He didn’t seem to be doing a very good job as Matt leaned down into his line of vision, waving a hand in front of his face. “You look like you’re about to pass out, dude.”

Neil thought he might. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Wymack was the one to turn to him, peering up at the looming figure that was Matt when he stood straight again. “While it’s touching you’re caring for the new kid, you’ve got an appointment, remember?”

“Shit, yeah.” He said as if he just tackled why he was standing in the first place. With a last look to Dan he turned to Neil, expression open.“Neil, I’m sorry that this has happened to you, dude. I mean it. You’re young and you didn’t sign up for this. No one expects to die. But I promise it’s really not that bad. You just gotta roll with it, for better or worse you’re stuck with this, with us. But personally, we’re pretty decent company.”

It was too sincere for Neil, too sincere to come from a stranger, so he didn’t trust it. Not really. But he appreciated Matt’s attempts. Even though, as Matt put, he was stuck with the whole reaper thing, so the pep talk wasn’t necessary.

Still, with slight hesitance, he offered his thanks.

Neil got a smile and a two fingered salute in return before Matt was walking out the door.

“You too, ladies. You’ve got people to see, souls to collect. Get out of here.” Wymack called, pulling out a notebook. In under a minute he had scribbled down some information and passed the yellow Post-It’s to their respective owners. It was abrupt but the others didn’t seem to mind, sliding their plates into the middle.

Both Neil and Wymack had to stand to let them out, Wymack calling out his goodbye’s as they headed to the exit with smiles on their faces. Neil didn’t get how someone could smile on their way to a death, he had experienced too many murders to find happiness in them. But he figured it was normal for them, seeing the dead everyday would become mundane eventually, even to him.

He didn’t know what to think about that.

“Have fun, beam boy.” Allison called before the ring of the door bell followed her.

Confused, Neil went to sit down again, but was cut off by Wymack’s slight tutting. “Sorry, but we’ve got stuff to do. It’s your first day on the job.”

“A soul? Already?”

“Oh no, kid. We gotta get you a home.”


	2. Don’t invest in the funeral business, its a dying industry.

“So reapers are just glorified squatters?”

Wymack didn’t bother with an immediate response as he jammed the rake into the lock of a dead man's home. An apartment halfway up the building that had been recently owned by a Mister Jason Hathman, thirty four years of age that had died during a break in. At least that’s what the newspaper had said. According to Wymack, Allison had collected the man's soul after he was murdered in his home. He had gone to the other side complaining about how he shouldn’t have borrowed money.

“We do what we gotta.” Wymack muttered as he concentrated on raising the pins of the lock. “I thought you of all people would understand.”  
  
That shut Neil up.

“I hate these bloody things.” A faint click quickly followed the complaint as Wymack turned the wrench, sliding the lock and pushing the door open. “It’s a killer on the knees.”

The midday sun was the only light source in the crowded hallway of the apartment, nicely highlighting the bloody body on the floor.

“Huh.” Wymack said with a look of almost shock. As in, his eyebrows jumped for a second before he was shaking his head. “Thought it would be clean by now.”

“You thought wrong.”

“No shit.”

They stepped over the body, Neil pulling a face as blood got on the remaining white of his sneakers, carrying marks along the floor as he walked. That would be a pain to clean.

“Do I have to clean this up?” Because if Neil had to live in a house with a dead body in it he would rather go back to the streets. After he used the warm shower.

“Nah, someone should be around to clean it up later.” The sound of running water followed quickly after, Wymack filling up a coffee pot with hot water. “Just stay out of their way, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because finding a stranger in the middle of a dead dude’s home is fucking suspicious? Why do you think?”

After quickly inspecting that the wall had no blood on it, Neil leaned against it, tucked away almost in the corner as he watched Wymack make a coffee in a dead man’s kitchen. Too much cream, no sugar.

“Liking the place? This is your new home. Mi casa, tu casa.”

Neil could have very easily told Wymack to fuck off in the same language but he had a feeling it would go over the man’s head.

“I’m always a fan of bloody decor, really livens the place up,” he bit with a smile that felt too jagged to be comfortable.

“Don’t start now, kid, I might think you have a sense of humour.”

The aroma of robusta had filled the air, making the place smell like a cheap coffee shop. “Why squatting? No special apartments for the undead?”

“Nope, and the job doesn’t pay either. So if you don’t want to live in a dead man’s house you’re going to have to get a side job. Like Allison.”

“Allison has a job?” She didn’t seem the type, too done up, but he remembered the hardness in her eyes. He shouldn’t have been surprised in retrospect.

“Says she would rather die again than live in a corpse home.” He placed the empty mug in the sink. “You can have a cup you know?”

“I’m good.”

Wymack muttered something under his breath that Neil couldn’t hear but assumed was unflattering. He didn’t bother to reply.

With a causality that came with being exposed to the dead, Wymack stepped over the body, making his way through the house. Neil followed, two arm’s lengths away, with lighter footsteps.

“So, I just stay here?” Neil glanced around the room. The apartment was nicer than anything he had had in a decade.

“Mmhmm,” Wymack answered, not looking back. “No need for keys, usually too hard to find. You’ve got the advantage of having some experience in the B-and-E department, at least.”

The smell of cheap coffee had spread through the house and joined the beginning of decay, making an all round unpleasant smell.

One by one they scoped out the place, glancing into bathrooms and rooms. Neil was closing the door to a linen closet when muttered words joined the coffee in the air. The entrance door handle turned as the lock came undone.

Instinctual reflex kicked in as Neil hid, terribly, behind the door of the closet while Wymack stepped forward, blocking the view further into the home.

They were clearly gang. With tattoos, poorly hidden weapons, and an air of self-importance. Neil knew the type, he just hoped they didn’t know him.

Wymack braced himself, and Neil didn’t know if it was courage or stupidity, as weapons were drawn from waistbands.

“Hey, hey, hey. Guns not necessary, boys. We didn’t know the place was occupied. We’ll be right out,” he said, complacent with his hands in the air and a casual line in his shoulders. “No need for violence. You’ll just attract attention, right?”

The head of whatever group they were thought about it, arm still raised as his right hand man whispered wisdom into his ear. It was all too familiar to Neil and he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“Okay,” Wymack said after a brief pause, apparently done with waiting for the other members of the room. “We’re just going to head out.”

A hand waved Neil over, quick and indiscreet. He didn’t trust Wymack, not as much as he could throw him, not someone that old and strong, but he hadn’t done anything to Neil yet and it was either him or the gun owning gang members.

He left his spot from behind the half open closet door, silent feet and tense body, ready to bolt as soon as something went wrong.

Which happened as soon as the group saw him. Some rookie with a trigger finger sent a shot off into Wymack’s side before realising.

In an instant, everyone spurred into action, Wymack grabbing Neil and dragging him as they ran, despite Neil’s discomfort. He had already been running before Wymack had moved, the grabbing wasn’t necessary and made Neil dislike the man even more. But he was somewhat appeased when the man used himself as the human equivalent of a shield, blocking Neil as they barrelled past the gang and out into the hallway to run.

Neil was released almost immediately as they bolted, running like Hell itself was on their feet. He was surprised the old man could keep up somewhat.

They didn’t stop until they were blocks away and submerged in a crowd, no sign of their pursuers anywhere.

The panic that had been held back by adrenaline and an instinctual survival habit of _run_ crept back to the surface as they calmed their pace to a walk.

Neil tried his best to keep it under the surface, freaking out in the street was as embarrassing as it was dangerous. He watched as Wymack paid for a street side newspaper and flipped it open, not ignoring Neil, but definitely giving him space. It wasn’t appreciated, Neil wasn’t breakable.

Neil may be dead, sure, but he didn’t doubt the Butcher’s abilities to make him scream from the other side. A gang, especially this close to the coast, would undoubtedly report him now that he had his father’s features of red hair and blue eyes. He hadn’t missed Wymack’s comment of, “soulless gingers” on the way over but he hadn’t laughed at the man’s joke. He knew it hadn’t been with ill intent, but it was enough to break Neil out into a cold sweat as he pulled a curl _just_ into eyesight.

Auburn was not what he had wanted to see.

“You alright, kid?” Wymack asked, leaning into Neil’s space as if to offer comfort. It wasn’t having the desired effect.

“I can’t stay here.”

“I’m not following.”

“They saw my face,” Neil started, gripping his jacket, wishing for his duffel, he needed to get that as soon as he was free from the living corpses. “I can’t stay here.”

There was a pause as a multitude of expressions crossed Wymack’s face before settling on recognition, “Ohh, kid. No, don’t stress. You’re all good.”

Neil didn’t think that he was “all good”, nothing about the situation was “all good” and he was a moment away from telling Wymack so.

“Just, relax for two seconds.”

Wymack’s hand slid into his back pocket and Neil was braced to die again before a phone was revealed. The older man flipped it open, fidgeting with it for a second before raising it up to Neil’s face.

Outrage filled him for a second before the screen was being pointed to him. “See.”

The face of the phone showed someone who was decidedly not Neil. He wore Neil’s clothes, and had the same hunch that came with years of trying to blend in, but that’s where the similarities ended.

A profanity came to mind as he looked at himself, or the body that he now filled; Wymack casually toying with a piece of facial hair while Neil stood in shock.

Hair fell over his head but instead of the usual slight curl it was pin straight and thinner than his own. He had a straight nose that didn’t look like it had been broken a few times, and eyes that seemed a size smaller than necessary.

Neil had been confused for a drug addict a couple of times. No food and shelter usually led to the same dirty and caved in look.

But the features of his new face were distinctly ill, with hollowed cheeks and wider eyes. And auburn hair.

Concealing the paranoia that struck him was relatively simple after years of practice. And it was aided by the fact that Neil’s face looked nothing like Nathan’s in the photo. But the sight of bright hair and eyes on what was meant to be his body still unnerved him, the idea that someone could recognise him by hair and eye colour alone was low, but it was was still a possibility.

He looked up at his boss.“Why’s my hair…?”

“Red?” Wymack offered. “You’re dead. _They_ don’t care how you died, whatever you were born with, they’re going to give you in the afterlife. You can change it, at least for us, Renee has crazy hair, but the living are still going to see whatever you’re stuck with. Sucked for an old reaper, had to redo years worth of work to get back to what he wanted.”

Neil glanced back at the phone, looking over himself once more before moving on.

“What do you look like?” Neil asked.

“The same.”

“Why?"

“I’m not sure. Maybe because anyone who could have known me is dead. No point in hiding something that no one knows about.”

Neil thought it would be a blessing for everyone who knew of him to be dead, but he and Wymack had different situations.

“Could be worse. You should see Matt, now that’s a mug.” Wymack whistled, low and drawn out. “Now, enough staring, we got shit to do and I have an appointment in an hour.”

Neil gave the phone back, trading it as Wymack passed over the folded newspaper

“Look, kid.” Wymack said, as lighthearted as Neil assumed a man that gruff could be. “You’re famous.”

The words sent a chill down his spine.

**Unknown teen impaled with beam in downtown park.**

 

They hadn’t used his name, and there was no image attached.

“This is really strange.” Neil commented as he inspected the article, the small corner of the page tucked away to comment about the _freak accident in central city._ With absolutely no narcissism, Neil thought his death would have at least reached front page, just for it’s unusuality, but it was probably best for him that his death was hidden away in the folds of the sunday news. Less chance of Nathan finding him immediately. At least it would provide some more time for the man to chase a ghost.

Neil felt that he should be more upset by the idea of dying, but so far there had only been pros.

“You’re dealing with the whole thing unusually well. Matt vomited when he saw his body.” Wymack replied, tugging the paper from Neil’s hands to fold it in half and tuck it under his arm. “Although, that was the first body he had seen. Wasn’t like you, me, and Renee. So we gotta cut him some slack.”

“Right.” Neil said, absent as he followed Wymack’s casual pace.

“So, you wanna collect your body? Bury it or some shit? You don’t really have any family to take care of that. At least none that want your body for the right reasons.”

“What? You’re going to go in and collect it while I wait out the back?” He didn’t succeed at keeping the shred of distaste out of his voice"

“No, no. We’re going to pick it up together. Transfer crew, Taylor and Hopkins.”

A card was waved carelessly in front of his face, held between two fingers. Neil snatched it from Wymack to scan over the face of it. It looked official, with Wymack’s face plastered on the front, _Taylor, Dave,_ printed on the side with his age and funeral service.

“Transfer Crew?”

The card was taken back, only to be stashed away in the pocket of Wymack’s shirt. “Yep, fake funeral service. We don’t pick up bodies often, not our jurisdiction. But it comes in handy every now and then when the new reaper comes in. Don’t use it much, the families generally pick up the body, but guess that doesn’t work with your case.”

Neil chose to say nothing as they made their way to their destination, he could tell a baited sentence when he heard one. Family backstory wasn’t something he was going to reveal, to anyone, let alone a hundred year old ghost with a penchant for shitty coffee and unblinking stares.

The collecting of his body was easy. As was the process of transferring it from the mortuary to a beach on the outskirts of the town. It was dreary and gray, with pebbles instead of sand, but it was good enough.

Logically, he knew that opening the bag and looking at his corpse would most likely be traumatising and haunting, but he was used to nightmares and gruesome sights so he did it anyway.

His neck could no longer be classified as a neck and he was fairly certain the only reason his shoulders looked broad for the first time in his life, afterlife, was due to the fact that the beam had pushed his body apart.

Usually, they say that the dead look like they’re sleeping, closed eyes and relaxed muscles. Neil knew that was wrong, had seen enough dead to know that that was only said for peace of mind. But still a small part of him was hoping that his corpse would look… not peaceful, Neil wasn’t that delusional, but at least calm.

Instead he looked dead and tired. Which made sense.

With the dark hair and grey skin, he looked pretty similar to his mom. Now he just needed the smoke.

“So, what do you want to do kid? Bury it? Throw it into the ocean? Viking burial?”

It was close enough and Neil didn’t care to talk to the man anymore than necessary so he took the black bag by the handle and started walking, making sure to stay in the peripheral of the older man. Neil may have been too caught up in being dead earlier to fully take in the man helping him out. The age and size were usually something he would notice first, but it turned out it took his own demise and dead body to temporarily forget an almost instinctual fear.

It wasn’t subtle but Wymack didn’t seem to care, walking ahead of Neil so his back was exposed instead of the other way.

The burning of his body was a familiar scene, a parody of his mother’s as the smell of ash and burnt skin filled the air. He didn’t know if he despised the memory of his mother’s fire or the memory of an iron against his skin more.

When his mother burned it was overcast, grey and sombre to fit the mood, if there was such a thing. When Neil burned, when Nathaniel burned, when Abram burned, it was six p.m. and the sky was red and burning with him, hot and clear, smoke filling the space like a plague.

When Abram burned Neil felt nothing, no fury or rage, no injustice.

“Here.”

Neil pulled back, looked over at Wymack, his hand extended with a sticky note in it. “This is yours.”

He took it with caution, the crumpled paper making a noise between his fingers.

 

 **N. A. Wesninski**  
   
 **4th Corner Street, 11:37PM**

 

“This is the last bit of your old life, move on. You’re not Nathaniel anymore.”

“Neil,” he said automatically.

Wymack looked at him for too long. “Alright, kid. Neil."

Neil looked at the note one more time, vaguely surprised something as sinister as an order for death could look so mundane. “What if it was someone else?”

“Another N. A. Wesninski, in the same place? Same time? Nope, don’t think so.”

For once, Neil had wished Nathan had been in the same town as him. Same spot. Maybe fate would have made a mistake and killed the wrong N. Wesninski. “You must be great in the mornings. Sit down, have a cup of coffee. Decide who dies.”

“Nah. That’s not my job, I’m just the messenger. I get my coffee and a little envelope slipped under my door each morning by a shadow man. We all meet up like a cute family and I give you your job. You do it. Rinse, repeat… The sticky notes were my touch, though.”

He wasn’t certain how much of the designation “shadow man” was accurate, but Neil felt after dying, not much could surprise him.

While he tried to think about whether to ask, the man pulled out a phone, fiddled with it for a second before bringing it to his ear. “Get Matt. Meet us at the pig statue… Yeah, yeah, who cares, be there in ten or you’re doing runner duties.”

The phone returned to his pocket. “To the car.”

The drive was silent.

As was the walk once they left the car, keeping a steady pace as Wymack led the way through more downtown streets.

“ _Neil_.” 

Only three times in his life had Neil heard his name being yelled with such confidence and volume, each time a different alias, each time ending with a new wound and panting lungs. He was justified in tensing at the sound of his name shooting through the air.

“Tone it down, Matt,” Wymack called, disinterested as he turned to the young man.

There was a resemblance to that of a dog Neil met in Germany as Matt jaywalked across the street, bounding to Neil while Allison walked with an air of elegance and the illusion that she had all the time in the world.

“Babysitting duty, again?” She asked when she approached them, looking at Neil with boredom that almost bordered on hostility. If given the choice, Neil wouldn’t have chosen to spend time with her either, so he believed her annoyance was undeserved and could piss off.

Neil made a face. “I don’t need a _babysitter.”_

“I mean, you kinda do,” Matt pitched in. “You just died. You have no idea what you’re doing. Plus, you’re probably gonna blow up soon, you’ve taken this too well. Everyone freaks out, usually sooner than later.”

“I’m fine.”

“Eh, I doubt that. Ever-.”

“Matt. Stop,” Wymack said, rummaging in his pocket, tone taking no prisoners. “Look, you two are gonna help the live wire. I have business.”

Neither of the newcomers questioned Wymack and his ‘business’. Something Neil felt suspicious about but couldn’t linger on for long as the older man pulled out another post it note, uncrumpling it to hand to Neil.

“This is yours. Got it this morning. These two are gonna run you through the ropes, help you get your shit together so you can do it all tomorrow.”

Neil took it with weary hands, glancing down at the writing as Wymack recited the information aloud. It felt surreal to see the details and know what it would lead to.

 

 **A. O. Mitchell**  
   
 **Lobby, C Wealth Downtown Bank, 57th Street, 2:36PM**

 

“You got half an hour.” With that, Wymack didn’t stick around for long.

Matt picked up the slack, offering up chatter as they walked down the streets. “So, from a scale of one to ten? How terrified are you?”

“Zero.” Neil was accustomed to death, and as long as he wasn’t doing the killing, it didn’t seem too traumatising. Whatever Mitchell’s fate was, Neil had been through worse.

“Liar.” Allison called, not looking up from her phone, pressing down on the keypad with a speed Neil didn’t think possible.

“Leave him alone, Reynolds.”

Neil caught sight of himself in the monitor of the tv, too many screens filling up the space of the shop window. The amount of screens showing his reflection was confronting as they filmed the streetside view, allowing passerby’s to catch a glimpse of themselves.

“Oh yeah, the whole face thing. Hella weird right?” Matt said, peering over Neil’s shoulder.

“Just wait till you try and take a picture of yourself. Always disappointing. Although, you don’t seem the type.” Allison’s eyes flickered over him. “Shame.”

“Ooh, he didn’t end up looking too bad though.” Matt commented as he looked in the tv display showed in the electronic display window. “Not as good as the real thing, but not the worst. I look like I grew into adulthood through crack cocaine, ten dollar blowjobs and got a couple of trick babies along the way. Although I guess not that different to the me  before I kicked the bucket. Dying really helped me out, drugs don’t really work on the undead. But yeah, the face thing. It was what freaked me out the most.”

Allison joined Matt at taking in Neil’s abstract form. “You’re kinda cute, but I prefer this you instead.”

“Ditto. You’re really good looking, dude.”

Neil, uncomfortable and unaware of what to say, muttered an, “Okay,” and kept on walking.

Matt didn’t seem phased by his lack of comment, but Allison scoffed at him.

“Well, Boyd, I’ve got plans with Walker, so I’ll leave wonder boy to you."

“What? You’re bailing on me? Not fair, Wymack said we had to.”

“Don’t act like you’re not dying to spend time with the new kid,” Allison sighed, staring down Matt’s betrayed gaze. “Look, fine. If I buy you ice-cream, will you let me leave?”

Matt’s beam was an answer in itself.

Allison treated them both to an ice cream and then went on her way. To where, Neil didn’t know nor care about. Neil had vanilla while Matt had something that was too much chocolate.

“Now when we go in, we gotta be a fly on the wall. No engagement, no interference, we just search and rescue, dude. Observe but do not interact.” Matt said as he pushed through the revolving door of the bank.

“Okay, sounds easy.”

“You know, some reapers think your whole appointment with death is planned before you’re even born,” Matt conversed as they walked through the lobby. “I think it’s bullshit, but who am I to question everything?”

Neil just hummed again, taking another lick of his dessert. It was sweet, not really his tastes, but it was better than this conversation. The silence lasted until they had settled onto the waiting couches, leather and just in front of the bank queue. Neil wasn’t one to be pressured into conversation but he could sense that Matt wanted to talk, and anymore anticipation and restraint from the man would lead him to vibrate out of his seat.

“What if you don’t make it?”

“To the appointment?” Matt confirmed as he finished the last of his cone, looking at Neil from the corner of his eye in glee.

“Mmm.”

“Huh, actually don’t know that one. Not personally.” A hand left it’s spot gripping the arm rest as Matt patted the air between them, as if to emphasise his next statement. “All I’m saying is, don’t miss an appointment. And don’t turn up and start interfering, or moving things around, or talking to people, not that that seems to be a problem for you, but it would be an issue.”

“... Okay.”

He nodded. “You might change an outcome of events. And that won’t end well.”

“So what should I do instead?”

“Look around, be a fly on the wall. High risk factors, we’re external death remember. Think about how someone could die in this environment. Like a retroactive crime scene, you stick to the sidelines and look for ‘high risk factors’.”

“Like what?” Neil asked, finishing the last of his treat.

Matt glanced around, taking in everything around him, from the floor to the walls and everything in between. “Look at the people at the counter. Do they look happy to you?”

“Not really.” But Neil wasn’t the best opinion on the case. “So?”

“Unhappy people tend to do unhappy things. External affairs includes accidents, suicide, and murder, although night shift usually gets that, the unlucky buggers. Kind of deserve it though, the assholes.”

“So you think they’re going to kill themselves in the day?” Neil had watched people all his life. Had seen all ends of the human spectrum. The people behind the counter looked miserable, but definitely not that miserable. “I don’t think so.”

Matt gave him a side glance, looking him up and down out of the corner of his eye before he moved on.

“Hmm, okay…” He nodded to their mutual left. “Man on the ladder. That’s an accident waiting to happen. Guaranteed death. Or tweaker chick, shakes, withdrawal. Who knows, maybe she’ll have an overdose in the bathroom.”

It was all just observe and assume, things Neil had been doing all his life. Except instead of searching for who would kill him, he was searching for who would die. Just the same as usual. Mostly.

“You get the picture?”

Neil nodded as he looked around, searching for whoever would die soon. Searching for “A. Mitchell.”

He was used to searching for those who were suspicious. Those that stared too long or angled their body. Not for someone who looked like they would trip at a moment’s notice or shoot up in a bathroom stall.

He also wasn’t used to small, dark demon-looking things, quadrupedal and angry looking.

In a instant it was climbing walls and scurrying out the bank window like a cockroach, looking behind at Neil for only a second before disappearing.

“So what do you bet?”

Neil snapped his head to the side to look at Matt. “What?”

“What’s your bet? Who and how?”

Maybe it was the fact that Neil hadn’t had anyone to make a joke to in years, but he nodded to the floor just in front of the revolving door. “The banana peel.”

“The banana peel?” Matt asked, confusion with a hint of outrage in his voice. “It could be anything. Murder, suicide. I bet you five bucks it’s murder, by the way. And you think it’s a banana peel.”

“Mmm.” Neil nodded. “Banana peel.”

“Okay…” Matt said with pursed lips and a shrug, holding back a smile. “Banana peel is a bit too off, we gotta go with something realistic here, so…”

He glanced around the room once more. Neil cut in, “I saw a piano drop on someone’s head, a beam on my own. Banana peel.”

“It’s _not_ the banana peel.”

“If it’s not the banana peel then move it.” His tone was flat but his words were enough to be a challenge. Matt stared him down with equal challenge, no malice in his eyes, more amusement, but he made no attempt to move the peel.

“It won’t be.”

“Then I’ll move it.”

Neil scrunched up the napkin in his hand and heaved himself out of the leather, both feet planting themselves on the ground again.

He made it one step, two steps, three steps, a few feet from the peel before Matt called out, “Wait.”

Neil glanced back over his shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll humour you. We can entertain the idea of the peel being right.” Matt said with fighting words but a smile in his eye. “Now sit back down, dude. Before you mess up someone’s death.”

He didn’t smile, but a small wash of victory hit Neil as he walked back to the chair, the most social he had felt in a long time. He didn’t trust Matt, not as far as he could throw the giant, but he didn’t mind talking to him so far. He backed off when needed and talked when necessary.

“So, we’re looking for a Mr. A Mitchell. Should die in about ten minutes.” Matt started, indicating for Neil to brandish the dull yellow post it note. Same handwriting that had printed **N. Wesninski**. “E-T-D is two thirty six.”

“Estimated time of death.” It wasn’t very original. But it was practical enough. “Anything else? Gender? Age?”

Truthfully, he didn’t think so. He saw those post it’s, with their name, place and time, but a part of him hoped that there would be some convenience in the job. That they would get some extra information.

“Nope, what’s written is what we get. A name, address, and a E-T-D.” Matt said with a shrug, passing the yellow paper back to Neil. “We get told _‘the less we know, the better_ ,’ makes it cleaner apparently. It’s easier to let someone die when you don’t care about them.”

Despite his words, Matt had the look of a man who cared.

But that wasn’t any of Neil’s business so he turned back to the bank and watched, becoming a ‘fly on the wall’. He observed, he didn’t interact, and in his observations he found multiple potentials, multiple people with names starting with _A_ . But he couldn’t identify if any of them followed with _Mitchell._

Through patient waiting and careful listening of bank gossip, he had narrowed it down to a few staff.

There was Austin, a bank manager who had a penchant for embezzling, who worked on the second floor, so Neil put him on the back burner of potential corpses. The post it note specified the death occurring in the lobby of the bank.

Alanna. The staff behind the counter liked to call her the office whore, said she traded herself more than papers. Neil thought that the commentary was unnecessary but it wasn’t his place. Apparently, Alanna had been having ‘sexual escapades’ with the loan officer on her break every couple of days.

“It’s tacky, you know?” The gossiping lady had said in Neil’s earshot. “Like, who puts their underwear in an envelope and gives it to someone? A _married_ someone.”

“If it’s as attractive as Alanna’s underwear, I can’t think of any man who would consider it tacky.” Her coworker had said, seedy smile and greedy eyes.

“I just feel sorry for his wife, Amy has to deal with the newborn while her husband is off fucking a hoe at work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure this all comes from a place of concern.”

The lady didn’t take offense, laughing deeply before moving on. That’s when Neil stopped paying attention.

Until someone walked in to the bank, hunched posture and shaky determination.

Everything about the man seemed suspicious, from the way his eyes shot back and forth across the room, to his erratic pace and bag.

Neil saw it coming a second before it happened. The man spun around, face contorted with anger and bravado, gun coming from a waistband.

“Everybody listen to me,” he yelled, unprepared and anxious, as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket to read from as he addressed the room. “I have a gun and this device. This device will detect silent alarms, so if a silent alarm is pulled, I will start killing everyone-.”

He flipped the paper over, clumsy with the gun in his spare hand. “Uhh, I mean. People… I will start killing, people.”

The security guard almost seemed to pity the robber. Neil felt the same; less pity, more annoyance. He didn’t care about theft or robbery if it didn’t involve him, but incompetence was painful regardless the situation.

Speech finished, he dropped the paper and pointed his gun at the pitying guard. “On the floor.”

They stared each other down for a moment before the thief lost his temper, anxiety taking over. “Now, now. Now!”

Neil turned away to talk to Matt as the security guard made his way to the ground. “What do we do now?”

The rules of the undead were partially lost on him. Could he die again?

Matt went to answer just as more yells of, ‘now’, and, ‘on the floor. Everybody’, rang out, loud and fake confident. They both glanced over before Matt shrugged broad shoulders and said, “We do what the man says.”

In sync, they slid to the floor, leaving leather chairs to meet cold vinyl and dust. A quick glance told him he had at least another seven minutes of the amuteur robbery.  A painful fact that made Neil wish someone would just die already.

His wish seemed to be quickly answered as the front doors opened, heavy and loud in the quiet of the robbery.

It was a sight to see, a middle aged woman, tired and wrathful, storming into a bank heist with a baby carrier and two children on leashes. She made it halfway through the foyer before she was calling out to the room at large. “Ayden? Ayden”

The robber looked as confused as everyone else in the room as she made her way up to the front desk, stepping past all the workers and civilians lying on the floor. Neil was used to brave mothers, but not stupid ones.

“Get down on the floor.” The man said, gun aimed at the lady with equal fury and righteousness.

“You get that thing out of my face. I’m _holding_ a baby.”

“Shut up.”

In a turn of events that not even Neil was expecting, the woman pulled a gun out of the carrier, right next to the infant. That was something Neil was more familiar with. “You shut up.”

Matt laughed as the robber retreated, taking a couple steps back as a gun was pointed in his face. “You know, if I didn’t know better I would start to assume there would be more than one death today.” 

Neil didn’t know how to reply so he watched as the lady ignored the man, stepping up to the service table to point her gun at the gossiping lady and her coworker. “Where’s Ayden?”

“Sorry, ma’am. We do-”

The woman cut off his refusal half way. Neil thought it was idiotic of the coworker to refuse a woman with a gun in the first place. “Tell me. I’m his wife.”

“Oh.”

Beside him, Matt laughed as an awkward expression washed over the two staff members, glancing at each other slightly before looking down at the gun pointed at them.

“Does everyone know? That he’s cheatin’ on me?” The wife said, cocking her gun higher alongside her tone.

“Uhhh… Yes?” He replied with a grimace, more for his life than for the romantic relations of his boss. “The whole bank knows.”

Her stagger to the chair was equally as dramatic as it was pathetic.

Neil and Matt watched without care, their arms crossed on the floor, slowly losing blood flow. Neil thought someone would have died by now.

From the chair, pistol still causally pointed at the staff, the wife asked, “How long? How long has he been cheatin’ on me?”

She said it without looking up, head hanging as the robber looked on with confusion and submission. Neil thought he was a coward, a terrible excuse for a criminal if there was one.

“Uhhh, I don’t know. Maybe two years?”

“Two years?” She echoed.

The gun’s end switched from staff to staff as she questioned them, baby watching on without knowing the influence of their mother’s actions. Neil was never the type to intervene, even when he was alive, so it was a good thing his death job required the removal of moral obligation, or he would have been in trouble.

“No, god, no.” The female coworker denied, furiously shaking her head at the wife’s allegations of infidelity. “I would never.”

Not pleased with her lack of sufficient answers, the housewife turned from the staff, gun raised to the ceiling as she called out her husbands name. It was a tad dramatic.

Matt tapped his watch after nudging Neil, mouthing, “Two thirty three.”

In all his life, Neil was never the superstitious type, but he trusted his inition. It had gotten him out of death’s hands enough times to pay it mind. He knew that something was going to happen. He just didn’t know what.

With cries for her husband and anger in her body, a five-three house wife with an Idaho accent raised her gun to the skies and set of a shot loud enough to scare the entire populous lying on the ground.

A trickle of dust and ceiling filler fell down from the bullet hole that broke through the roof of the floor above.

Matt turned to Neil, smile wide and eyes knowing “Two thirty four. It’s showtime.”

In a quicktime turn of events, the wife turned to glance around as if her husband would suddenly appear. Neil looked at the ceiling. The ceiling collapsed. Neil flinched. And Matt laughed.

In a rain of dust and asbestos, the bank was covered in grey as an explosion set off upstairs, the bullet presumably hitting some form of gas pipe or explosive.

Rubble and chunks of plaster blanketed their bodies as the crowd grew frantic. Matt still laughing.

He wouldn’t be laughing if a chunk had hit his temple like it had Neil’s. But either way, Matt rose to his six foot glory with joy as he took in the opaque air around them, unable to see further than a few feet in front of them as the dust filled the space.

“Gotta act quick before the soul passes.”

Firefighters filled the building as the robber jogged away, bag tucked inside his jacket as he stepped over the banana peel. _Disappointing._ The wife was being taken down by a security guard, and Neil was dead and stuck with a man who was wandering around a half-destroyed bank yelling, “Mitchells.”

“Matt…” Neil started, taking in the mess around him.

“Yeah, bud?”

“Nobody died?”

Matt nodded up to the clock above the doors and Neil’s eyes left the robber and his getaway. “It’s not two thirty six yet.”

With the unawareness of someone high as a kite, in walked a man with blonde hair and a cheque. Twisted smile that couldn’t be natural and dressed like a punk, he couldn’t even look up in time to take in the damage of the bank before a guard was stepping in, grabbing his arm to say, “Bank’s closed."

The newcomer yanked his arm away with a face which quickly fell away to a manufactured smile. “The ATM’s closed, I gotta cash my money.”

Matt paid no mind to Neil or the basic courtesy of social understanding as he walked up and peered over the strangers shoulder to read the stranger’s cheque. With a childish grin, he turned back to Neil and mouthed, “It’s him,” as he pointed at the stranger.

As the man sighed at his bad news, Matt laid a hand on his shoulder, briefly glowing gold before it fell away, a trail following behind like string. In the next instant the druggie was stepping away from Matt as if he didn’t exist, sneakers squeaking as it pressed against the peel on the ground.

Gravity kicked in and the stranger fell, toppled, and stumbled over his feet, banana peel sliding across the floor as the stoner fell the other way. Headfirst into the revolving door.

Neil could see it happen as a stray firefighter pushed against the glass frame of the revolving door, only to stop upon resistance and a sickening crack. It brought back memories of broken bones, but he hadn’t heard a neck snap before.

“Mmm,” Matt grimaced beside him, pulling a face as the stoner’s head bent to an unnatural angle. “Might need a chiro.”

His disgust didn’t last long as he looked over at Neil, grinning with pride as he nodded. “You were right. It was the banana peel.”

A fiver slipped out of Matt’s wallet and slapped into Neil’s hand. “Well earnt. I coulda sworn it was going to be murder.”

Footsteps creeped up on them and Neil turned back cautious.

“Ohhh, fuck dude. Is that me?” The stoner asked, as stereotypical as he could possibly be. “Shit.”

Neil assumed it was the man’s ghost, seeing as the ethereal body was staring at its own broken, physical form.

“Sorry, man.” Matt said with shrug. “You’re dead. Gotta come with us.”

“Shit, but I just got paid.” The ghost shouted, more to himself than to Matt. “This sucks.”

“Sorry, dude…  Hey? Do you live alone?”

And that was how Neil ended up with an apartment.

It had a poorly ventilated, rebel-against-my-parents sort of feel with it’s posters and general uncleanliness. It had multiple plates of food and a bed that had more crumbs than padding....

But there were no bodies. So that was enough for Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my amazing beta @c-dragons-pirates (tumblr) and @clockworkdragon


End file.
